Reflection
by YamiKatie
Summary: Set on the night before the final duel between Yami Malik and Yami. Isis is sitting in her room, when her brother, possessing Anzu, comes in for one last farewell.


A/N: Well, it's been a little while since I last updated anything; I've been working on Northern Darks, mostly. That, and coursework. But I _really_ wanted to write this; the potential deviations of the situation had been niggling at me for some time, intensifying if I watched the episode in which Malik informs Isis of his decision to confront his other self, and just generally begging to be written. And then a plot trundled along and…well, it all went from there.

But anyway, to summarise: this is based during the time in Battle City when the last fragments of Malik reside in Anzu. I really wanted to explore how communication between Malik and his sister would go at this point: what subjects, their tones, their emotions, etc. After all, how do you react when your precious baby brother gets reduced to possessing a girl in order for him to retain consciousness?

**Reflection.**

Moonlight shivered through the window, tumbling tentatively into the tiny cabin. The room's objects became softly shrouded in misty light, as if someone had come along and lovingly sprinkled fairy dust upon all. Shadows were shaky, fragmented. Darkness was not welcome here.

Water trembled in its fragile glass refuge, and she reached out a hand to steady it, fingers sloping gently up and down for a moment before retreating and leaving it be. Her troubled, liquid gaze passed briefly back to the bed. He would wake again one day, perhaps; and until then, she would care for him.

Isis rose in a smooth, careful movement from the chair, and settled back into the kneeling position that of late her body had passed so many hours in. There was some wordless comfort to be had from this position of prayer, made more so for its lack of definition, and she slipped gratefully into place. Her hands moved over Rishid again and again; smoothing away sheets, tenderly tucking everything away, fingers moving gently over his face. For now, it was eased of the worry that had creased it during the past few days, threatening almost to fold it into two. She adjusted the pillow a little to make him more comfortable.

Perhaps he was happier this way, if an unconscious person was capable of feeling anything remotely akin to happiness, or indeed any other kind of emotion. This way, his state of consciousness would be close to that of Malik's – floating, the few fragments that still lingered stretched between a few people, bodiless and for the most part consciousless. She watched Rishid lie there, testimony to the Ishtar family's failure, and the last piece of physical evidence of everything that had happened in the last few millennia still within her control.

Such cruel irony, that someone who could create a Battle City tournament designed ultimately to bring her family together could watch her brothers fall because of it, one after the other, and remain hideously unscathed herself. The loss of the Tauk did not touch her; even after being stripped of its power she did not desire to have it back: it was the vicious tearing apart of her wish to see her family united again that hurt the most. Yet even with everything gone, she would not be seen to crumble, establishing instead an aura of dignified resignation that would dispel firmly the pity she had already felt leaking from others whenever they looked at her.

But oh, how hard it was to maintain this sadly-smiling façade; and it was harder still when she continued with weary fear to play this game of hide-and-seek that had sprung up between her and the darkness governing her brother's newly-conquered body. Moments of him prowling steadily behind her: she would hear the amused breath on the back of her neck as she spiralled away, only to realise he might not even have been there…perhaps it would not be death that the last remaining member of the Ishtar family would succumb to but madness, and then that would be a splendidly fitting end to the idea of Dignity. Meanwhile she would flee from room to room, seeking not only refuge but comfort, some final solace…

_I can give that to you, sister._

…and dragging Rishid's body with her, feverishly locking the doors after them while all the while expecting him to pop up behind her like a crazy Jack-in-the-box, grinning in her face. Scream bobbing in her throat, she would check the doors again, only to find that they were unlocked.

A grimace contorted her face for a brief instant, lines of pain slyly revealed. She exhaled and watched it spiral slowly away, dissolving into the air. It collided with the candle on the bed-side table, causing a threatening shiver of light. She reached over, stretching out her fingers in tentative touch, and heard, at the door, a whisper of a knock.

She turned her head, mechanically; and suddenly beneath the hollow tap of knuckles on wood some other sound was made audible, a thin, desperate whisper. "Nee-san…"

The gasp shrivelled in her throat - she almost stumbled out of the chair as she rushed towards the door. She yanked it open and for a moment stood blankly; they both stood blankly, staring uselessly at each other as her eyes told her of her mistake. Then something flickered in Anzu's eyes, and another intelligence was manifested through eyes that were suddenly violet in hue. The body stumbled towards her and she embraced her brother, feeling the unfamiliar contours of this shell housing him pressed tightly against her. Her fingers became frantic, zinging with life as they felt him, trying to push impatiently through this unnecessary layer to the person beneath. He made an indistinct, murmuring sound from within her, and she clung tighter.

"Come inside, quickly." She hurried him inside as if he were a piece of contraband, head turning from side to side as she scanned the corridors. Fumbling hands locked the door after them, and they were alone.

"Ahkii, ahkii…" She held him away from her with her hands on his shoulders, and he surveyed her back wretchedly, expression that same twist of hopelessness as before.

"I…" He spoke hesitantly, and although she knew it was Anzu's vocal cords at work here, it was still him, working his puppets as he always had. She couldn't work out whether it was echoes of Anzu in his voice that were present, or vestiges of him in hers, but it didn't matter because it was still him all the way through. He averted his eyes from hers in that same old gesture of awkwardness, and murmured, "I…wanted to see you again." Then, at the joy leaping into her eyes, went on in hasty yet helpless explanation: "I…couldn't spend the last night alone…"

She nearly wrapped him within her again at that. "What do you mean? Don't talk like that." At some point within the last few seconds they had crossed the room, and she guided him to a seat beside her. He sat down, looking confused.

"Sister, you know it will all be over tomorrow." He had lapsed back into Arabic, the language that had governed their childhood until obsession had dictated that they all learn Japanese, and she did the same.

"But of course; you will be restored-"

He was already shaking his head. "It's not going to happen."

"Of course it will happen!" Indignant, feeling suddenly slighted, she rose. "The Pharaoh promised he would extinguish the darkness within you. He said that anata no yami no jinkaku will be gone forever."

A bitter little smile twisted the corner of his mouth. She saw it, and bent down, flimsy material of her dress pushed impatiently aside. Distracted, he gestured: "Sister, you need to…"

She made a brusque sound and adjusted the strap. It wasn't enough, and he could see the swell of her small breasts, but he averted his eyes and said nothing.

"The Pharaoh keeps his promises, ahkii. You know that." She spoke as if she were lecturing him, informing him of some basic fact in that slightly condescending tone she unconsciously adopted in such situations.

He looked down again. "I…am sure the Pharaoh will try his best."

"Then what is the problem?"

"There isn't one." It was a barely discernable mumble of an answer. How to say that he had strived for such independence as he had managed to attain during the last six years, and now, having gained it, was loath to lose it? And loath also to be dependant on others for any restoration, any at all, of this independance, while knowing that even if it was given back, it would never be the same as before. He had proved he could not cope on his own; and now others had to bother themselves with him, to include him on their list of bargaining terms. He was just another person to be rescued; just another puppet like those that he had manipulated himself while being so scornful of. The Pharaoh had no personal interest in seeing him restored back to his body; the Pharaoh had enjoyed the way Isis went down on her knees before him and begged, offering everything before him as compensation for this most _unseemly_ use of his precious time. Malik knew, having been present, his grip on Anzu's body loosened almost to negligibility, while he strained to follow the conversation. Yugi of Darkness had not stopped Isis even when he had made up his mind, choosing instead to watch a little longer, pleased by the sight of a subject coming to him and pleading for him to fulfill his position. To think that it was a supposed sacrifice on his part! Smirk, smoothly channelled into a grave expression of understanding.

He closed his eyes, and thought to himself that he would never share this with Isis, knowing how much it would hurt her.

She hated to see him like this, and reached out a hand in appeal. "I'm sorry."

He raised troubled eyes to meet hers, and let her run her dark hand over his face. So disconcerting to see him in this form: she kept expecting to feel the tousled blond hair beneath her fingertips. Yet in Anzu's eyes could she still discern him peeking nervously out from behind the blank orbs, purple colouring them into a part of him. "Ah, damn, but you're still in there."

He cast her a look of misery, the emotion bare, stripped down into simple unhappiness, if there ever was such a thing. "Unfortunately." He leaned forward, resting his head in hands. The rest of his body scrunched up against his arms, and he frowned in sudden, baffled pain. "Why does that happen?" Still baffled, he looked at the way Anzu's breasts were squashed together, and pulled a face.

Despite herself, she smiled. "That's the way it works. A…disadvantage to discovering your feminine side."

He scowled at her, and the scowl was all Malik. "That's so cheap," he muttered, yet blushing.

"I couldn't resist." She smile, a little more sadly, while looking at how the flush coloured his cheeks rosy and how wrong that was, how they should be darker.

He wasn't looking at her now; he was looking away, at Rishid. "I've betrayed him, haven't I?"

"Wha-Of course not! Why do you say that, ahkii?"

"So many ways," he muttered, voice now degenerating into a incoherent mumble. "Making him wield the God Card…forcing him to accompany me throughout this madness…and now, when the time comes for me to repay my constant manipulation of his loyalty, to help _him:_ I remain here, weaved into a stupid _girl_ body, and unable to do anything…anything at all…"

"That isn't true-"

"Sister." He reached across, patiently, and grasped her arms. "I am doing something potentially quite innovative here. When I descend into this regretful and useless melancholia, you are supposed to nod and silently encourage me to continue voicing all the ways I utterly messed up, not interrupt me and tell me that isn't true. We both know that it is; and there are certain delusions which are now pointless for us to continue harbouring under."

An uncertain fire lit her cobalt eyes. "I…see." A strange mood of his now, to be sure; and she had seen most of them.

For a moment he seemed about to go on; then he shook his head and it was the same bowed head and dead expression as before, the burned-out, eternally tired soul of her brother and that was all, naked and frail without his physical body, leeching off the life-spirit of others as he clung to existence. "It's the point, you see," he was murmuring in that same just-audible tone; "it's all part of the redemption process, even if there's no point in it at all; we do it because all the books tell us that if we confess everything and express enough remorse then we will be saved; and we _won_'_t, _it's a _lie-" _He drew a hoarse breath. "It doesn't matter that there are parts of my life which I don't want to take back, because I'm obliged to express a desire to start again and lead a life of fruitfulness; and there's no point in that even if it did work, because I am _not_ going to have an opportunity for a second attempt bestowed upon me!"

"But-"

"But don't you see?" He rounded on her. "There is no second chance sometimes. And I am expected to disown everything I have ever done; and if I do that then it leaves me with nothing! I'm going to die tomorrow, sister. You can't do anything about that."

"The Pharaoh said-"

"_The Pharaoh doesn't give a fuck!"_ he exclaimed hoarsely.

The gasp didn't die this time; rather, it seemed magnified beyond what it was supposed to be, as if making up for the failed attempt of its brethren, and burst out of her in a great hiccup of a sound. Her breasts heaved as her body demanded air. They stared at each other.

Abruptly, Malik rose. He walked over to Rishid's side as if expressing a declaration of loyalty to him and not her, and looked down at him. Isis, helpless, remained where she was.

"I'm sorry." He fumbled beneath the sheets for Rishid's hand, until Anzu's pink fingers were swamped within the Egyptian's great paw of a hand. Softly: "I messed up. And I won't ever know if you knew it too, or loved me too blindly to see. I'd like to think that you had more sense than I did. But even taking that into account, you were a damn good brother." He gently eased his fingers free. Then, rising, he began to walk over to the door.

"Ahkii…"

He met her eyes, and his gaze was empty. "Nee-san, that's your brother, down there." He began to walk away.

"Ahk-" Seeing that he meant to leave, she did not run after him but instead rose her voice to an hysterical order. "_Get back over here!"_

He turned, startled; then his expression grew sad, dismissive, and he turned again.

"I told you to get back over here! Don't turn your back on me like this, Osiris damn it!" She scarcely knew what she was saying as she ran up to him, no, hared over. "You dare to say this, that you-"

He gaped at her, wide-eyed, and for a moment his eyes were thick with kohl and wonder. "Isis…"

She seized him, and pulled him to her in a movement that held him locked to her as she kissed him, the fire coursing through and uniting them. He let out a thin shriek.

She tore him away, a writhing, protesting body. "How dare you say that?" She held his shoulders rigid. "_I_ asked the Pharaoh to save the person who I deemed _my brother. _I got down on my knees and begged him to rescue _my brother. _So don't tell me I made a mistake. I think I know who my own damn brother is."

"…Demo, boku-wa…" he protested feebly.

She shook him. "Think before you speak, ahkii. It's one of your failings."

He gazed at her in awe. "Nee-san…" He continue to goggle soundlessly at her, while looking both startled and impressed. "You…you scare me sometimes."

She regarded him solemnly back. "You scare me sometimes too, ahkii."

In humble surprise: "I…do?"

She nodded.

Suddenly subdued, he mumbled, "I'm sorry. For everything."

She let him bury himself within her, and it was okay this time when she kissed him, because they both needed it. She seated herself on the sofa, and pulled him onto her lap, him smiling in an awkward mix of embarrassment and pleasure as she let him touch her hair in that same simple way as they had had before. He started plaiting it into tiny braids, fingers moving deftly and with love, and she wondered again why his fingers weren't darker, the alteration confusing her memories of before.

"I think it's become softer," he murmured absently.

She smiled and touched his hand. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know."

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly as the long monster of turmoil within her was soothed and curled up, pacified. "You're going to get your body back."

"If you say so." He affected indifference; but he was distracted, and she felt it in the sudden tension of his fingers, their sudden cruelty.

"I know it."

"Mmm." Sudden manifestation of that cruelty: "How can you be so certain, when you no longer have the Tauk?"

"I don't need the Tauk to be so certain of that."

Nip of spitefulness: "It doesn't seem so accurate when it comes to predicting the outcome of duels."

"Oh, ahkii."

"I'm sorry. But your denial frustrates me, sister! It crumbles my mood of resignation towards my fate."

She felt for his hand, and stilled it. "Resignation? Fate?"

"Well, you know what I mean."

"You said you would never use that word. Not with such seriousness, such deference."

He tried to sound casual, and did a reasonable job. "I said I would never manage to become fluent in Japanese, sis, and hark at me now."

Teasingly: "And what have we been conversing in?"

Promptly: "Ni-hon-go."

"I don't think so." She smiled a little. "You could never sustain a morbid mood, could you? Or any sort of mood, for that matter."

In a surly manner, well-timed: "Teenage hormones."

Gentle laugh. "Ah, ahkii." She ruffled his hair in that old display of affection, and became quiet; they both became quiet, lulled despite themselves. He slid off her lap, plopping onto the sofa next to her; and, when she let out a murmur of protest, snuggled back against her. "I wasn't going."

"Don't ever go," she whispered fiercely.

He smiled sadly at that. "I'll…try."

Overwhelmed suddenly, she clasped him close to her, feeling again this unfamiliar shape, startling her hands: of hips and breasts and this strange face, which she now held close. He sighed from somewhere within her, and she stroked his cheek in a solace of reply.

They lay still together as the flat disc of moon gazed solemnly on, its gaze a soft silver spotlight. And as the speckling of stars grew dim and fainting, they lay, joined; and when the first effort of brilliant crimson lined the horizon, Malik rose, and gently eased his sister's limbs back into place. And with a tweak of trembling yet firmly-held strings, he moved Anzu's body towards the door, and fate.

A/N: (winces a little) Okay, maybe that last word is a little cringe-worthy. But I was dithering briefly as to what to put there, and that choice seemed vaguely apt, considering Malik's opinion of it. He does, after all, possess an attitude of 'Fuck Fate' throughout most of his teenage life.

And damn, because I was going to try and make this a PG or whatever it is called now; I considered that with only one swearword I could perhaps get away with it, but I certainly won't with two uses of the 'f' word. Well, whatever.

I am actually rather pleased with how this turned out; I was expecting to enjoy writing it, and at one point I was getting a little anxious because that was not the case. But then, from the moment Malik knocked on the door, it really did begin to flow.


End file.
